


I Write Eulogies in History Books

by AngelWalkingTheStars



Series: Past Allen was a Bookman Theory [2]
Category: D.Gray-man
Genre: Character's Name Spelled as Neah, One Shot, Past Allen - Freeform, Past Allen was a Bookman Theory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-16
Updated: 2019-04-16
Packaged: 2020-01-14 21:19:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18484567
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AngelWalkingTheStars/pseuds/AngelWalkingTheStars
Summary: There’s a roll of parchment on the table before him, untouched but for the single line he’d been able to bring himself to scrawl.Neah D. Campbell, the Fourteenth son of the Noah Family and Musician of Noah’s Ark, is-He can’t bring himself to write anymore....The Past!Allen fic that no one asked for.





	I Write Eulogies in History Books

There’s a roll of parchment on the table before him, untouched but for the single line he’d been able to bring himself to scrawl.

_ Neah D. Campbell, the Fourteenth son of the Noah Family and Musician of Noah’s Ark, is- _

He can’t bring himself to write anymore.

And it’s ridiculous, he knows, this sense of attachment he’d built between himself and the other man.

It’s ridiculous how the other had made him feel. His dark hair, gleaming in the strange white rays of light in the Ark. His fingers as they danced across the keys of his piano, monochromatic but ever melodic. His laugh, high and bright, whenever Allen did something he found worth comedic torment.

It was ridiculous because ~~Allen~~ _(that’s his name, but for a moment, and yet it seems to fit him now, like a glove to his hand, like he’s found something precious after a long journey without)_ the Bookman Apprentice does not build ties with others, he is beyond this, beyond history, beyond friendship.

Beyond love.

And yet, despite all of this, he knows that  _ Allen _ is not.

_ (Neah lay, back to the alley wall, arms limp at his sides, broadsword in hand, blood splattering the wall behind him and the ground beneath him. It dripped, spreading as a bird would its wings, but he does not fly. _

_ He can’t anymore. _

_ Allen sees this man, once bright, once beautiful, and now so, so broken. He sees his one hope of living, his one hope of becoming something  _ more _ rotting away in an alley, lost of his ties, dead for the little time he has left. _

_ He makes a choice.) _

_ Neah D. Campbell, the Fourteenth son of the Noah Family and Musician of Noah’s Ark, is dead. _

“Allen,” comes a voice behind him, rough and gravelly for their growing age. 

Allen turns, face barren, to see Bookman standing in the doorway, bag in hand, ready to leave. Allen smiles, blank for all it’s worth, silver eyes dulled to a stormy grey. His hair, usually tied back, falls haphazardly around his face, tangling in his glasses and obscuring his freckles from view.

There’s blood on his gloves.

“I’ll be there in a moment,” he replies, smile fixed, set as if in stone. “Let me just finish up here.”

Bookman glances at the scroll resting on the desk, barely inked, bloody fingerprints staining the edges, and sighs.

“A failure.” his eyes say, hooded with the exhaustion Allen has seen so rarely despite the man’s growing age. Allen knows, deep down, that maybe he  _ should _ be feeling something right now, even if it’s only the shame of disappointing his mentor, of failing to become what Bookman has spent a decade and more training him to be.

He feels nothing.

For once, he is well and truly blank.

“Don’t be long,” Bookman warns, turning from the doorway. The words lack any real conviction, said without real purpose or expectation of following. They fill an empty space which feels more like a gaping chasm than the mere ten feet between the two.

Allen nods back even though Bookman can’t see him, his eyes meeting the parchment before him.

_ Neah D. Campbell, the Fourteenth son of the Noah Family and Musician of Noah’s Ark, is dead. _

Allen’s hand shakes.

He can feel the promise he’d spoken, heavy on his trembling lips, more real than anything he’s ever spoken before.

_ I will protect your memories from the others. No matter how long it takes until you awaken. _

_ No matter what. _

Neah is dead.

For now.

Allen smiles a small, twisted smile.

He writes.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you liked this short little one shot! I really love this theory/idea, so hmu if you wanna chat about it!  
> Thank you for reading <3


End file.
